Another Time, Another Place
by Tawnya Kisaragi
Summary: Part theme list, part story ideas I couldn't get to be more than drabbles, all about Jak and Daxter.  Stories range across the whole spectrum of the games, hopefully in a believable way.  Individual prompts will have notes.
1. 2 AM

Yeah, so, okay...I totally should be working on the ending for the Last Thing (it's written, just not typed), but stress hijacked my attention to other things. That, and I finally managed to pick up a copy of Jak 3, so I had to go back and replay from the beginning... Yes, insert slowpoke jpeg here, but I'm totally hardcore fangirling over the series right now. Besides. I've been looking for a good excuse to sit down and do a theme list for a while now. The stars finally aligned; who am I to say no?

So the format is as such. The chapter name is the prompt. It's also listed at the top of each chapter, after which is the game timeline it belongs to. Other notes will be made was we go along. I'm trying to keep these things short; we'll see how well I succeed. I freely admit I've never played Daxter or Lost Frontier, probably never will, but I am also a YouTube addict, so I've watched someone else play both. Let me know what everyone thinks.

~Tawnya

* * *

_**2 A.M. - Daxter**_

It was always the same nightmare. They were sitting on the beach (that pure, innocent thing that they had spent many days bemoaning its boring qualities because they saw it every day, but seemed like heaven's paradise now), laughing and pushing each other in the waves as two stupid, young boys thought was a fun way to pass the time. A particularly hard shove, a particularly high surf, and like that, the world was gone, washed away as easily as footprints in wet sand. It was cold, suffocating, and dark as the weight of an ocean's water pushed him further down, taunting him with the clear view of light that seemed so close. He struggled to get back up, to get back to his friend, thrashing as hard as he could against the icy fingers crawling up the back of his legs to get free…to absolutely no effect.

Why wasn't the other coming? They had promised to be there for one another, no matter what, best friends until the end of all things. Surely he could see he was drowning. No matter how able-bodied they both were at swimming, there was always a threat in the water, be it lurker sharks, poisonous spiny snails, or simple seaweed to get careless feet and hands tangled in. No one went out alone and everyone was watchful for mishap. But there was no secondary splash, no body pulling itself down to him with strong strokes and firm kicks, no face full of concern and worry. There was nothing.

Fear redoubled his efforts – fear for himself, because of all the ways to die, drowning was not high on his list of preferred methods, but also for his friend. Surely something must have happened, something drastic, to keep him from coming to help. It was the one thing he knew better than his own hand, that only the most dire of things could keep them apart for more than a little while. He needed to get up there, needed to see, needed to know…because they had promised…

His lungs burned with the need for oxygen, his arms and legs leaden and stiffening from the cold that kept seeping in ever deeper. His thrashing gained him a little, letting his fingers brush the surface. So close and yet so far away. He pushed, pushed with everything he had even though it hurt, practically tasting the hope that maybe, just maybe, he could pull through this ordeal in one piece. A little more. Just a little more and...the empty beach stretched out in front of him.

The shock literally stung him, like he'd stirred up a nest of whumpbees and failed to run away fast enough. Where…? Why…? What…? The questions ran thick through his mind, bumping into each other, cutting one another off, leaving a broken jumble for his emotions to trip over. His struggles abruptly ceased and he slipped back under, faster and further than before. The light of the world above disappeared completely. The cold burned into his skin, going past numbing and directly into pain, until there wasn't a place that didn't feel like it wasn't being torn apart. But it was nothing compared to the pain ripping though his chest.

His friend had left him… His best friend, his blood brother, the one who shared all his laughter and most of his tears, who had sworn never to leave his side…had left him behind.

It was the deepest, darkest fear he'd ever held. Not just alone, because he'd been alone before, but _left_. It wasn't a secret that he wasn't well liked, the random, weird child that had showed up one day from gods knew where and decided to stick around. No family, no home, no origin; just a smart mouth and a stubborn attitude that had earned him only one real friend in the tiny sea-side village of Sandover. A friend, he had thought, who would stand with him, give him a home and a reason to be. Someone who could get past the words he spouted so carelessly and hear what was really being said. It hadn't been so terrifying before, when he hadn't had that reliance there, hadn't know what it was like to have someone beside him. But as they grew up, grew together as few others ever got a chance, it had become painfully obvious he was nothing without the other.

Teary eyes would open and face his accuser in a world made of darkness. Jak stood there, blue eyes piercing, angry in a way that seemed so wrong for the happy child Daxter remembered. He choked, trying to gasp out questions but unable to say a single bloody thing for once in his life, knowing he was only damning himself further but needing to know what happened. Why…?

"You left me to die."

He shook his head, screaming in denial, no longer caring about dying so long as he didn't die with his friend thinking something like that. Never! Never would he—

"You said you'd rescue me. You said I'd be out in no time. I trusted you and you left me to die." Jak's body started to decay before him, stalking ever closer. Daxter screamed again, in terror, in refusal, in hopelessness and sheer agony as his best friend wrapped pale fingers around his throat, leering in with dead-black eyes. "Now, you can die for me."

He'd wake up screaming wordlessly, fur soaked in sweat and shaking like a fall leaf. Then he'd have to roll over and vomit whatever was left in his stomach, which most nights was nothing, sobbing uncontrollably because he just couldn't stop. When everything finally calmed enough to let him move, he'd crawl from the hole he'd curled into in a vain effort to stay warm and safe in the hellhole known as Haven City, hurrying to the nearest bar. The cutie who worked the late shift usually gave him a free shot or two of whatever was the strongest thing behind the counter that night when he came in looking like road kill. The rest of the alcohol he'd need to drink in order to hit oblivion could be charmed out of the other late night customers.

"Well, just like clockwork," she drawled, wiping down the heavy wood bar top as he walked in. "Two on the dot. Better than a timer, that's my best customer. Hop on up, honey, and let mama see what she's got…"

* * *

Questions and comments welcome. No, I don't remember where the list came from, other than I found it on Livejournal after link-hopping for three hours. There's sixty-four prompts total. If I find it again, I'll link.


	2. Metaphor

This one's kinda weird. It kept changing prompts. I've had several do that to me now, where I'll start in one place and end in an entirely different one. Hopefully it's finally settled down and decided to behave.

~Tawnya

* * *

_**Metaphor – The Precursor Legacy**_

In retrospect, it seemed that there had never been any other choice. In order for the future to come to pass, Samos knew much had to happen, and the task was daunting. How to raise a child so naturally curious and innocent so that he could survive alone in a world on the brink of destruction? Samos started with what he knew; subterfuge and misdirection. The boy was given a different name, placed in the care of another who could help nurture and strengthen his personality while Samos was still able to keep a weather eye on him, and hidden away effectively in plain sight from the many evils that still plagued the world. The rest could be made up as he went. He just had to remember he had the time…and no time at all.

Jak was an attentive student; well, as attentive as a child that young could be, but already Samos could sense that something wasn't right. For as inquisitive as he was, as interested and concerned for others as he was, Jak seemed horribly unattached to his surroundings, moving rapidly from one thing to the next. He was a good child, doing as he was told, quiet and obedient and respectful…a Precursor-blessed gift as far as the sage was concerned. Yet there was something missing, something exceptionally, vitally important he just couldn't put his finger on. He watched with growing apprehension, quite mystified as to what this something could be, wondering how his plan could be so flawed so early on and what he could do to fix it.

And then the answer landed right in front of him. Or rather, it was thrown at him one stormy night.

The storm that had been brewing all day hit land right on the edge of twilight, pouring rain and piercing the sky with lightning. It was a righteous squall that seemed bent on trying to erase all things in its path. Everyone was hunkered down in the most sheltered building in the village, prepared to wait out the pounding waves and howling wind, when Jak suddenly dashed out into the fray. He did not obey the calls to come back, running unsteadily on slippery ground with far more purpose than Samos had seen to date. Unable to do much else, he and Jak's "uncle" took off after him, heart heavy as the sheeting rain blocked their sight. A few tense, breathless minutes later, they found Jak struggling to help another boy walk towards the shelter. He couldn't have been much older than Jak and was completely drenched, mud clinging to his clothes and pale skin slick with blood. Though obviously exhausted and badly hurt, the boy tried to talk, stumbling over his rush of words. How Jak had known the other was there was a complete mystery, and one better saved for safer conditions to contemplate. They picked both boys up, hurrying back before the storm got worse. No one recognized the new comer save for the fact he had the red hair indicative of people from around Rock Village.

There had been rumors among the other sages about increasingly bold Lurker attacks—never on a village itself, but on the farms and homes that lay on the outskirts, or the loose communities that were the beginnings of new villages. A couple of times, he was called to help with the healing of the injured. More often than not, however, it was an after-the-fact passing mention. Samos never paid it that much heed; Sandover was protected by lava, ocean, and thick jungle. Lurker sharks and sand snakes were the worst things to be had and were easily avoidable. There was no way there would ever be an attack there…at least, not until much, much later by things far worse than Lurkers. All that, however, didn't stop an attack on the small population that lived just beyond Sentinel Beach's waterfall, between Sandover and Rock Village. The most anyone could get piece together from the frantic spill was that he had run into the storm to get away, but he was incoherent, feverish, and traumatized. He raved for most of the night, delirious, but finally settled around the time the storm died back. Then he slept for two days under a slow-healing Samos provided. Jak spent every waking moment and more at his bedside, holding a hand that had yet to let go.

That was how Jak met Daxter.

It was still several months after that before Samos realized that this Daxter was the same loud and obnoxious animal that had so rudely insulted him when they first met. Knowing that, it was a natural inclination to try and separate them, but it was a losing battle. Daxter was like an insidious weed – no matter how often he was cut down, he rose again, undaunted and even more determined than before. The more Samos tried to keep him from Jak, the closer the two became. It was only years after the fact that he realized Daxter was also what had been missing in Jak, that the child he was watching so closely had not been alone at all.

Daxter's energy excited Jak, getting him up and moving, interacting, and kept him involved past where curiosity alone would have lead him. Daxter kept Jak motivated and focused (even if everyone in the village wished that focus was more productive), helping to ease a shy, quiet kid into a strong, caring person. But perhaps the greatest thing Daxter did was make Jak smile and laugh, taking the sting out of being alone and unusual. The two of them were truly a matched set, complimenting each other's strength and covering the weaknesses, becoming something better than best friends and closer than brothers. Daxter's impropriety meant that Jak would never be left alone because of social concerns or petty misunderstandings. When Dark Eco tore apart their world, Jak would survive for Daxter, and Daxter would help Jak live again.

Samos hated to admit it, but Onin had been right… The world would be saved not by the mythic hero's flaming sword, but rather by the angel and devil that sat on his shoulder. 


	3. Sky

This is actually the result of a discussion between me and a few friends after one of us pointed out that the only thing that kept Daxter really attached to the future was Jak. I know a lot of people will point to Tess as a good reason to stick around, but she doesn't show up later, unlike Keira. It's really just a mechanic of the game and there's not much more beyond that, but it's fun to think about, ne?

Please note that I'm not afraid of swearing. The games covered it in relatively clever ways, but Daxter's got a mouth and he's drunk. Out-n-out swearing will occur. If you're not mature enough to handle it, please skip to another chapter.

* * *

_**Sky – Jak X**_

Sometimes…it was easy to forget that Daxter didn't belong in this world. It was hard to think anything could ever _be_ wrong even when he spent so much time complaining about everything that _was_ wrong…which most of the time was whatever was going on right then. He was always _right there_, in the thick of it, clinging to Jak's shoulder (or in the close proximity there to), alternating between loud whoops of triumph and shrill screams of terror with a more-than-healthy amount of one-man dialogue in-between. Daxter was one of those few constants in Jak's life, a reminder of why it was important to still get up in the morning even when everything seemed like a lost cause. Having his best friend constantly beside him, even when he was being more annoying than anything else, made a lot of things easier. It was something that Jak was always grateful for, and without realizing it, slowly had come to take for granted.

So the thought that his friend felt out of place never crossed his mind. With everything Daxter said, he never talked about that particular subject, and everyone else seemed content. Samos and Jak had both come from this time period originally, so it made sense that they felt like they belonged there. Maybe Samos more than him, because it was hard to call a place home after all the shit he'd been through in the past few years, but he still felt a connection. Yeah, he missed the lazy afternoons on the beach and having the most dangerous thing he had to worry about being mild sunburn, but he was also happy with his current life. This is where his friends and family were. And Keira…she might as well have died and gone to heaven because of the technology that was bristling out of every corner. She was finally in a place that not only encouraged her inventor/mechanic hobby, but actively helped it thrive. There was no way she'd ever be happy going back to the out-of-the-way life she'd been born into. In the face of all that, why would Dax be any different?

But Daxter was different.

There were only a handful of races left before the ultimate finale, a handful of weeks before everything they'd been working for could be grabbed. Everyone's nerves were shot and the poison they'd ingested in the first place was finally making itself known, leaving everyone snarling and snapping at one another. Ashelin and Keira had already gone the rounds once today, which had Torn and Jak lined up for round two. After Sig broke them apart, everyone had scattered to the wind to brood on their own. Still riled up, Jak had taken the last of his anger out on the one person still next to him and driven Daxter out into the night.

Now, he'd found his friend hugging a bottle bigger than him, silently staring up at the moonless night sky. The bottle was about half empty, but unlike all the other times he'd been drunk off his ass, Daxter was abnormally quiet and still. Feeling self-conscious and more than a little foolish, Jak settled onto his heels, ready to leave if that's what Daxter wanted. He more than deserved to be told off after that latest stunt. But the ottsel said nothing, did nothing, not even continuing to drink. They sat in complete still, until…

"We're gonna die out here, aren't we?"

Jak blinked. Where had that…? "What?" he laughed shakily. "C'mon, pal. A little faith would be nice. Haven't lost a race yet and I'm not gonna start now."

"Fuck the races," Daxter snarled, startling Jak flat on his butt. "M'not talkin' about some idiot gear heads with their panties in a twist 'bout gamblin' rights or somethin' like that. I'm talkin' 'bout our corpses, in the ground, here, now." He took a long pull off the bottle, gasping at the end in a way that made his fur stand out on end. "We're gonna die out here, aren't we? We're never…never gonna make it home…are we?"

"Dax…"

"S'stupid, I know. Ya don't get to make decisions like that. Ya die when ya die n'yer bones get left where it's convenient n'ya don't trip others up. But damnit…I don't wanna die here, where ya can't see nothin'. I want _my_ stars, n'the beach with the waves…n'the stupid sculptor makin' some pretty design in a stone to go next to all the others…"

He was crying now, the large tears rolling faster and thicker with every hiccuping breath, clinging to the bottle like it was the only stable object in the world. "I wanna _go_ _home_, Jak. Our home, the _real_ one, where life was borin' as dirt…n'the fuckin' world isn't tryin' to kill us every time we take a breath…n'the only race that matters is who gets home first in a rainstorm. Fuck everythin' else-bein' normal, bein' a god, bein' a hero…_I don't wanna die here_…"

What could be said to that? Nothing… So Jak opted for a non-verbal response, letting his hand rest heavily on heaving shoulders. After a little bit, Daxter abandoned his bottle (and his pride) to cling to Jak's arm, eventually crying himself out and slumping over in exhaustion. Jak pulled his friend into his lap to keep the smaller form warm as he turned his face to the sky, for the first time truly noticing that the stars he'd fallen asleep under so often as a child were different here. Without the moon, they should have been able to see everything, even the smallest, dimmest stars bright and noticeable. But not in Kras City. Not with all the eco-lights bleeding into the darkness and the smoky fog left behind by all the race cars. Not in Haven City either, where buildings blotted out the skyline. Not even really in Spargus, where sandstorms could, and regularly did, consume the whole world.

Yet another thing he'd let slip away without noticing. Jak sighed and took a drink of the leftover alcohol, wondering if this was the real reason Daxter spent so much time inebriated. And if that was so, maybe there was one more impossible task he needed to take on.


	4. Lost Scene

This was pretty much my reaction the first time you round that corner in Spargus to reach the back area of the city. I did spend like half an hour running up and down the area until I tripped the event with Seem and the Dark Satellite. I don't know why I reacted as strongly as I did, but I absolutely fell in love with the water right there. It's still my favorite place to go messing around in if I'm not interested in whatever the next mission's supposed to be. That's my excuse for this.

Random outtake: I know a lot of people have made the Sparta-Spargus connection, but am I the only one who looked at the Arena scenes and went "Two men enter, one man leaves"? More importantly, if Jak is Mad Max, who's Master Blaster? Or did I totally just show my age there...?

~Tawnya

* * *

_**Lost Scene – Jak 3**_

"H-holy damn. It's just like home," Daxter breathed as they rounded the corner, and Jak had to agree. Of all the things they had expected to find in Spargus, a crashing surf had been nowhere on the list.

It wasn't exactly like home. There was no silky sand underfoot, no gentle slope into cool water, no lush greenery to frame the whole scene. It was a rocky shelf of the same grayish stone the rest of the city was made from and a sheer eight foot drop down straight into the water. A few scrubby desert brushes clung to the rock here and there, the same dusty, muted brown colour most things in the wasteland were, but the expanse was mostly clear, flat and open. Beautiful blue water stretched out towards the far horizon, the light wind following the waves filled with clean brine. Nothing like the acidic muck of the ruined Temple District, or the slimy, oil-slicked water once found around the Pumping Station. And while it had been clean, the water in Haven Forest was fresh, which had a completely different smell and texture.

They stepped up to the shelf edge, looking about in wonder. The fine touch of sea spray as each new surge broke on the rocks below was an untold joy, instantly taking away the heat and dust of the day. Jak closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Something in him relaxed, and he could feel the same edge of tension drain out of Daxter. The anger was still there, doing a slow burn under his skin, fueled by the pain and stress of their recent ejection from Haven City, but the unexpected simple happiness of being near the water again gave him a sense of peace that had been missing for a while. He hadn't though much about it, had spent so much time focused on other problems and other stresses that he'd never realized exactly how much he missed the water. Now that there was nothing to pull at his attention, there was a sharp ache for all the things that had been left behind with childhood innocence.

"Ya know, I never thought I'd miss the beach," Daxter finally said, stretching out so he was draped over the shoulder guard rather than clinging to it. "Diggin' sand outta places ya never could figure how it got there in the first place. Chokin' on rouge waves and salt in yer hair. Chasin' gulls. Sunburn." He sighed. "I even miss the stupid Lurker crabs."

"No you don't," Jak replied with a slight smile. "You hate crabs and you always complained about peeling for days after even a mild burn."

"Hey, whose fault is it that I had a bad experience with crabs, hm? An' _you_ got nothin' on me about peelin', big guy." Daxter leaned up, tugging at Jak's ear. "I very clearly remember someone who managed to burn so bad he peeled for the next two months." Jak swatted at him, but Daxter was on a roll, wiggling away and cackling like mad. "Ah, c'mon, blondie, it ain't all bad. Promise to rub lots of lotion on the spots ya can't reach."

Jak rolled his eyes, but chuckled nonetheless, wandering behind his friend as he scampered down further down the oceanfront. There was an actual beach further down, right were the cove ended and met up with the far wall of the city. It wasn't very big, but the desire to explore it was almost overwhelming. They didn't get the chance, running across the surly monk he'd seen in the Arena and the weird contraption she (Jak was not entirely convinced of that one, but Daxter insisted) and a few other monks were praying in front of. He gritted his teeth through her tirade about the Dark, hearing all the same voices he'd thought left behind in Haven. By the time she allowed them to move on, it was late, he was exhausted, emotionally sick, and they still had to find the place they were supposed to spend the night.

At least that wasn't a total trial. The halfway house they'd been directed to wasn't far from where they were. Though the woman who ran it was as rough and tumble as everyone else, she did seem to have some sense of humor (meaning she didn't try to shoot Daxter when his mouth started to run away). She gave them a map of the city, the location of the various smithies and shops of interest, a set of clothes and some advice – "Don't take the hard looks personally, but don't take anyone's shit, either. You're not children, so no one should treat you like you are. Spargus is strong because her heart beats strong, because we trust one another to do their best. Do your best, and Spargus will stand with you."

Late into the night, listening to the crash of the ocean through the open window, those words repeated themselves over and over.

"Hey, Jak?"

"Hm?"

Daxter propped himself up on Jak's chest, looking oddly thoughtful. "Ya know, this place ain't half bad. Little hot an' dry, little dusty an' drab. Definitely not much on the bedside manner an' the chicks are more muscle bound than the guys, but…can we…we can make this home…right?" He sat up a little further. "I mean, if ya wanna try again an' all. ' Cuz if ya wanna blow this popsicle stand, I totally understand. It's just…ya think we can go swimmin' first? I _really_ wanna go swimmin' tomorrow."

"…Yeah, Dax…" Jak settled a little more into the bed. "Yeah, we can try here. And we can go swimming first thing in the morning."

"Good." The ottsel settled once more. "Those jerks in Haven can kiss our asses, right, Jak?"

_Do your best, and Spargus will stand with you._ "Yeah… They can kiss our asses."


	5. Degrees

I absolutely fell in love with my linguistics classes despite being a creative writing undergrad. Considering most of my friends are science geeks of one breed or another, maybe I was just being subtly groomed to be interested in the study of language from the start. In any case, I have way too much fun dissecting the way people talk and Daxter makes for a great subject. I pay homage to the people who created his dialogue and the man who lent his voice to the character because they did an awesome job.

~Tawnya

* * *

_**Degrees – Jak 2**_

For as counter-intuitive as that probably seemed, the best way to figure how dangerous or difficult a mission was going to be was to listen to Daxter talk.

The first few times he had noticed this phenomenon, Jak had passed it off as a random, weird quirk his friend had developed during their separation. Just one more thing in an ever growing list of things that had changed in his life. He couldn't read his best friend as well anymore, could only hear disjointed words and phrases where there had always been smooth discourse before under the rambling. Daxter himself had become sharper, no longer using words as a shield to defend himself from people who never seemed to try an understand him, but as a sword he carried constantly unsheathed and used without reservation. And while no one in their right mind would ever accuse him of being passive, Daxter had become much more aggressive in his verbal pushing, often going beyond points he used to stop at. Given all of that, it made sense that this new, tougher version would use a vernacular Jak was unused to.

Yet, as their associations grew in number and temperament, it became clear that this wasn't so much a fluke as it was an unconscious expression of wisdom. It was one of the rare times when the words themselves were more important than the meaning they were trying to convey or the tone they were being spoken in. Always, _always_, the words bore out complaints. The tone could be anything from sarcastic to affronted, ardent to truly scared. But it was the lexeme choices themselves that were the most telling.

Regardless of the fuss put up in the beginning, if he spoke in clear, simple forms, Daxter wasn't too worried about whatever was supposed to be going on. By contrast, if the mission scared the hell out of him, he spoke almost entirely in slang, heavily interspersed with some of the most creative profanity anyone had probably ever heard. Other levels included uncertain (which was slang without the swearing), upset (plain speech with the occasional curse word), unnerved (a rapid switching in and out of slang), and unacceptable (plain speech with a ton of swearing).

This division of speech applied to people as well. Torn, Krew, and Pecker all hovered on the same level of necessary evil and were all treated with the same inflection and euphemism-laced conversation that indicated disdain. However, no matter how hostile he was with Torn, Daxter never swore at the man. He never swore at at Krew, either, yet the insults towards the crime lord were harsher than anything ever directed towards the Underground's number two. Pecker was the only one who received a truly unrestrained barrage. Conversely, Sig was easily the one who was held in the highest esteem of all their new friends and was thus treated with the fewest unfettered comments and the least colourful language. Ashelin and Tess both got the flirt routine, a mostly tasteful combination of witticism and blatant flattery, which Tess ate up and Ashelin seemed indifferent to. And then there was Vin, whom Daxter teased ruthlessly, but without any sort of malice, slowly but surely drawing the paranoid recluse out of his shell – a kindness that had only ever been shown to one other before.

The more he watched this strange progression, the more Jak realized Daxter never spoke to him in any of those ways. There was no set pattern, be it the words, or the tone, or even the vocabulary, when they were talking, which admittedly was very little these days. Despite not being apart for more than a handful of minutes since their escape from the Baron's prison, they were really only occupying the same space. Of all the things Daxter said during the course of the day, barely a handful were directed toward Jak.

Feeling particularly brave one night (the two beers he'd already drunk that evening probably helped with that), Jak asked why. He'd asked before, usually only to receive a confused look from his friend. Tonight, however, Daxter stared at him, opened his mouth, and then closed it without speaking. After a few moments of great deliberation, the ottsel abandoned his own drink to stand in front of Jak, the table height bringing them face to face. They stared at each other in the eye for a long time and once again, Jak found himself only able to understand bits and pieces of what those eyes were trying to say.

Finally, with a pained expression, Daxter turned away. "I don't know how to talk to ya anymore," he admitted, playing with his glass. "Sometimes, I think I get it dead on an' I'm a million miles from right. Most of the time, I get no reaction. So I keep changin' it up to find somethin' that works." The smile he gave was a bit forced, but there was no doubt behind his voice when he spoke next. "Don't worry, buddy. I'll figure it out sooner than later, an' then we'll really show this town what we can do."

Daxter went back to his drink, but Jak merely stared at his own, trying to piece together what the silent look at been trying to tell him. He was both startled and humbled when it finally came to him.

_I did this to you. I'm the reason all you can hear is nothing but static now. How you can forgive me, I don't know, but I'll keep screaming until you can hear me. Even if you never hear a word from me ever again, I'll keep calling until you answer._


	6. Seize the Day

This was actually a challenge given to me - get Daxter super-ticked off, but he can't swear. That, and the bromantic moment struck my fancy.

~Tawnya

* * *

_**Seize the Day – The Precursor Legacy**_

Daxter and Samos were going at it again. Yet. Still. Perpetually. Even down the hill from the Sage's hut, Jak could hear them, their voices carried on an otherwise calm breeze. He sighed, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, then back again as the angry words rolled over him. He wanted to stop them, but was powerless to do as such. Anything he could have said or done to stop it from progressing this far was only a meaningless gesture now. He'd missed his chance.

No, he'd more than missed his chance. He'd flat out screwed up. They were arguing because of him, because he had chosen to ignore all the warnings he'd been given and go exploring.

To be honest, he really didn't understand what the big deal was to begin with. It wasn't like they'd stolen a boat to run off to Misty Island, or used the warp gate and interrupted one of the other Sage's homes. To the contray, all he and Daxter had really done was take a walk through the jungle. It was called "Forbidden," but the tree snakes and sharp-toothed fish weren't any more dangerous than the beach's crabs and Lurker sharks, and the two of them practically _lived_ on that beach. Okay, maybe it was a good idea to forbid young children from going into the dense foliage, but they were fifteen, for Precursors' sake. How much longer did the village plan on keeping them penned in?

It wasn't the village. It was Samos. It was _always_ Samos who tried to hold them back…and Daxter had finally called him on it.

It would have been easy to simply apologize. It would have been easier to lie. But of the thousands of things they could, or should, have done, Daxter chose to be belligerent, openly flaunting their rather benign ramble as if it had been some harrowing journey. This, of course, only pushed Samos's temper. The whole thing had quickly flown out of control from there. The fact that they were _still_ arguing, nearly twenty minutes after the fact, proved just how wrong everything had gone. All because he'd wanted a change of scenery, found a pretty flower, and given it to Keira.

The abrupt lack of screaming voices was startling. Jak looked up to see Daxter all but running towards him. It wasn't until he was bypassed with barely a glance that he realized his best friend wasn't trying to go somewhere so much as he was trying to get away from where he'd been. Despite his outward fury, there was a bruised look in Daxter's eyes that kept Jak close to his heels and quiet. He fell into step behind the agitated boy and followed wherever his friend cared to lead.

Daxter lead to the far side of Sentinel Beach via the most meandering, backwards way possibly ever conceived. Jak hung back, giving the other the space he needed to work through so much pent-up aggravation. He'd let Jak know when he was ready for company. In the mean time, the redhead muttered darkly under his breath, picking up and hurling random stones with as much force as he could muster. Finally, just as the sun hit the horizon, Daxter came to a stop atop one of the massive stone monoliths that looked out over the ocean.

"Where does he get off tellin' us what to do, huh? We ain't his kids. He ain't responsible for makin' us eat our veggies or brushin' our teeth. So where does he get off thinkin' he can tell us what to do or where to go? It's none of his beeswax where we go or what we do! An' don't ya dare start tryin' to defend him!"

Jak had barely opened his mouth when he was cut off, Daxter whirling around to pin him with a glare. "Ya breath one word 'bout how he's a Sage an' we need to respect our elders, I'm gonna clobber ya. He only pulls that venerable crap when he wants to lord over someone! Like it makes him better than everyone else 'cuz he can go all sparkly an' talk to plants. Maybe if he stopped talkin' to the flora long enough to listen to a _real_ voice, he'd remember there's more to life than the colour of eco he's high on. An' respect? Respect what…that fact no one's tried splittin' that log on his head so his brain's got room to grow? Not in this lifetime, buddy. My respect's earned—it ain't palmed like a Precursor Orb an' traded 'round.

"But ya know what really boils me? _You_ _buy_ _it_, every lil' word." Jak blinked and Daxter scowled. "Don't look all innocent, 'cuz I know how ya think. Ya stood under that tree listenin' to me an' ol' Green goin' the rounds an' ya blamed yerself. Ya believed him when he said it was too dangerous, that ya shoulda known better, shoulda listened to what he said 'cuz he's the friggin' end-all, be-all of wisdom. Ya woulda lied an' tried to hide the whole mess. _We didn't do anythin' wrong_, an' ya still wanna apologize! Do ya even get how screwy that it?

"We ain't him, Jak. We're not gonna play 'round with the glowy stuff an' try to unravel the secrets of the universe. We ain't gonna be Sages an' we certainly won't be hangin' 'round here 'til we're as gnarly as he is. Me an' you, we gotta do right by us, 'cuz there ain't nobody else who's gonna do what we do. But it ain't gonna happen if we don't get out there in the first place. Hang 'em all if they don't like it. It ain't their lives bein' lived."

The anger finally dissipated, leaving Daxter deflated and oddly vulnerable. The bruised look was back, hopeful and hurt and begging Jak to say what he needed to hear, making the young adventurer wonder what possibly could have been said to damage his friend's natural self-assurance so badly. "So what's it gonna be, pal?" Daxter asked in a subdued voice, extending his fist out for their tried-n-true display of solidarity. "Ya in, or ya out? Are ya gonna let everyone else decide yer life? Or are ya gonna make a few bad decisions an' actually be happy?"

Even if the options had included certain death and dismemberment, there would have been no other answer. Jak knocked his own fist into Daxter's and smiled, pleased to see some of the darkness in the other's eyes vanish. He stepped forward, intent on doing whatever it took to erase the rest of the words that stood between them, because Daxter's happiness was his as well. Whether that was a bad decision or a good one had yet to be seen, but Jak knew it was the right one, and that was all he really cared about.


	7. Opposite

This is one of the few where it was written without having a definite place within the main storyline. As near as I can figure, it should be right in between the second and third game, but really, it could happen anytime before you get the Light Powers in Jak 3. I'd also like to point out this is not a Mary Sue or a self-insertion. The woman talking is supposed to be ambiguous and ephemeral; she is only a vehicle for this conversation and the prompt, and nothing more.

~Tawnya

* * *

_**Opposite – Jak 2/Jak 3**_

"You know, I think your Sage has it all wrong," she said when Jak stepped close. She didn't look at him as he sat across from her. Instead, she kept her gaze on the moon rising over the water as she spoke. "I've seen it before. People get comfortable with what they know, what they want to believe in. No one likes hearing that they're wrong, and that makes it hard to believe that things might not be as they appear. That's the biggest problem with becoming specialized – you can't ever see past what you think you know."

There was a half smile on her face as she sat back on her hands, still looking up. "Maybe it's different here, but where I come from, nothing can exist wholly unto itself. There has to be a counterbalance, a secondary force that negates the first. It's a law, actually. 'For every action, there is an equal, yet opposite reaction.' It's been my experience that if it can be done, there may not necessarily be a way to undo it, not completely, but there is always something that can ease the burden. I know, I know-–it's all very hokey and sounds incredibly naive. I can hear your eyes rolling, but seriously…just hear me out for a little longer.

"Everything comes in twos, if you think about it. Objects have a front and a back, a top and bottom. Emotions are paired up by extremes; love and hate, happiness and sadness, bravery and fear. Natural phenomena aren't any different. Fire can boil away water while water can extinguish fire. The sun would burn without shade and we'd all be blind if not for moonlight at night.

"People like to forget about that '_and_.' They only want to focus on the positive, only ever want to feel the good stuff. But let me ask you this, would you had never felt pain, or fear, or any type of sadness, could you really tell me you were happy? What could you compare it to? Without that negative, no one would ever know that what was happening was a positive in the first place.

"Supposing, however hypothetically you want, that all of what I've just said is true, eco has to work the same way. There has to be an equal, yet opposite force to Dark Eco."

"There is," Jak said softly. " Green Eco."

She shook her head. "The opposite of disorder is not wellness, regardless of what a Life-worshipper would like to think. Chaos is the force that brings Life into focus, that allows for things to live in the first place. The '_and'_ for Life is Death, which anarchy also facilitates. Hate to say this, but you can't be your own antithesis.

"I think…the better comparison would be to Yellow Eco," she continued after a short pause. "The ability to recover from damage versus the ability to inflict it. It can be the other two, since Red and Blue Eco act out the same power, just different aspects of it; strength against speed, both of which are stamina driven traits." She snorted lightly, smiling deprecatingly. "Or, they could all just be opposites on the colour wheel and nothing more. That still leave the black by itself."

Now it was Jak's turn to shake his head. "Light Eco doesn't exist," he said flatly, feeling somewhat bitter by having to admit it out loud. " No one's seen it. No one really even believes in it."

"Just because no one's seen or touched it doesn't mean it doesn't exist. It just means it's rare and well guarded." She sighed, finally turning to look him in the eye. "Look, I know I don't have all the information. I know my opinion is biased, and I know I don't have the right to say anything on the subject because I'm not a part of it. But what I also know is that the Darkness can't exist without the Light. That even when everything around you is changing, some things never do. It sucks trying to hold onto that conviction some days, it really does. It's always easier to give in, and gods know, sometimes it's the saner option to take.

"But I believe. Yet, still, despite everything, I believe in this symbol." She pointed to where Mar's Seal hung around Jak's neck. "I believe in the harmony that can be found when two opposing forces are allowed to act as they should, and that true peace comes not from the absence of hurtful things, but from accepting that pain is part of the process. I believe you can only hate as much as you've loved and that death is just the next step in the dance all Life swings to. It's the promise that things will get better and the reminder that nothing lasts forever. …It is the ultimate '_and'_…

"…What does it mean to you?"

"It's my family's symbol."

"That's what it is. I asked you what it meant."

Jak didn't have an answer. He'd never thought about it before, and now found he had too many other things clamouring for his attention to think about it properly. She patiently waited him out in silence, eyes once more turning to the sky while Jak tried to sort out all the noise in his head. No one had ever pointed out what now seemed so obvious, yet a part of him resisted. It was so different from what he'd been told before, completely contradictory in places. And yet…when he looked at the Seal, he could almost see what she saw. He could see the movement in an otherwise stationary object, saw the pieces slowly circling each other, their paths twining together, leading and trailing in an endless spiral.

"It means…" He trailed off when he looked up. He was alone in the moonlight, his mysterious conversation partner gone without a trace.

"What means what?"

He turned and saw Daxter on his other side, looking up curiously. Jak thought about asking if he'd seen where the other had gone, then thought better of it. People though he was crazy enough without help. Instead, he tucked the amulet back into his shirt and bent down in invitation. Daxter immediately bounded up to his normal spot, using the position to poke Jak's cheek. "What means what?" he repeated, demanding this time.

"It's not over yet."


	8. Passions Run

If you look really hard (or maybe, you'll notice right off that bat), this chapter, _Degrees_, and the next chapter all kinda exist within same sphere of influence and could thus be considered continuations of one another. This wasn't my original intent, but looking back at it now, I do think it adds a certain solidarity to the pieces that wouldn't exist otherwise. Or so my insanity goes... This whole scene was actually inspired by the opening of the _Daxter_ game and hopefully, the scene is relatively easy to pick out. This chapter also has a marker for swearing - you have been warned.

~Tawnya

* * *

_**Passions Run – Jak 2**_

To put it nicely, they had been fucked since they stepped out into the late evening, on their way to complete Torn's latest suicide run. Granted, a run through the noxious muck of Dead Town beat out a mission in the city sewers based solely upon smell alone, but the place was achingly creepy and it had been raining all day. Could they wait for the weather to clear a little (which was most of the reason they'd ducked into the Underground's base in the first place) before slogging through Precursor's knew what for no particular reason? No. The hard-ass tactician had tossed them a gun-mod, blatantly admitted he didn't give a damn about their lives and therefore didn't except them to come back from this in one piece, if at all, and dumped them back in the street with the order to clear the old Temple District of Metal Heads.

Daxter was literally speechless with outrage. He sputtered through half-formed insults, hackles up and spitting profanity. Jak chose the more practical way of burning through his anger-going to Dead Town and ripping apart everything that got in his way. Metal Head after Metal Head fell, shot or torn to pieces and sent sinking into the mud, yellow skull gems clattering to the ground in startling quantities. Despite the number of enemies they blew through, which at times seemed endless because there was always like three more stuck in a weird corner just out of sight, it had little effect in cooling off their tempers. But that ire turned to nausea in the early morning light when they saw where the Metal Heads were trying to reach. To realize that this broken, decaying, insane world they'd been thrown into was really their home, their future…it was too much. That was asking too much from people who had already given what felt like everything. Cold, wet, tired, enraged and sick, they marched back to the city in traumatized silence.

It was the shaking, that fine trembling that had nothing to do with a body trying to generate heat, which broke Daxter. Jak's face was perfectly neutral, still slightly etched with the intimidating scowl he'd adopted, but his eyes were dark and glassy. He walked with the same stride at the same pace, but the movement was without purpose or direction. Had there been enough eco in his system to change, Daxter knew his friend would've darked out, preferring madness to such raw emotion. Right then, the ottsel wouldn't have tried to stop him.

With a little bit of coaxing, Daxter got Jak turned toward a safe house. Though they rarely stayed in one, Tess had shown them a few of the lesser known locations for emergencies. It was little more than a hole in the wall, but it was warm and dry. The layer of dust on everything meant it hadn't been used in a while and was therefore relatively safe. There was even running water. Some more cajoling got Jak into a bath, and then the better part of something in a bottle Daxter found in the back of a cupboard into Jak. The combination of heat and alcohol worked like a charm: Jak was out cold as soon as he hit the bed. And though he curled up next to the much larger form like he did every time they caught a much needed nap, Daxter did not sleep.

Instead, he watched and waited, fussing with the blankets and petting slightly damp blond hair as he worked himself into knots. Discontent and indignation fed and fanned the need to do something, to make something right again. The only temperance to his seething mindset was the thought of Jak waking to find him gone and thinking himself abandoned. The nightmares were fewer now, but still just as graphic as they'd ever been. They never talked about it, but the fear ran deep of being alone once more. Leaving Jak alone was at the top of the "never gonna happen" list. The boy had been through enough.

Oddly enough, it was that thought that pushed Daxter into action. A quickly scrawled note in the dust of the bedside table, the careful arrangement of his goggles next to it in a gesture of what was hopefully reassurance, and he was out the door before he could change his mind. He took to the streets in an all-out run, down on all fours in a bounding gait that ate up the ground. It also had the added bonus of giving him the ability to launch himself at his target without having to slow down, since Torn was so conveniently standing outside the hideout, talking with a couple other people.

The snarl Daxter produced when he jumped for Torn's startled face would have done any eco beast proud. Rarely seen claws dug into cloth and skin alike. Sharp teeth pierced just as easily, ripping into anything they could get purchase on. He didn't stop moving, swinging around the thinly armoured body in an orange blur, slipping through grasping hands as easily as air. Between the speed of the attack, the constant shifting of balance to counter the additional weight and the sheer ferocity being displayed, Torn landed flat on his back in under a minute. A hind foot stepped down hard on his throat, but it was the prick of his own knife just above his eye that kept the Underground's second on the ground.

"Now listen to me, ya sonuva sea-sick Lurker," Daxter hissed. "This is the end of yer shit missions and stallin' tactics. The next time Jak comes here, this Shadow-guy had better be here too, or I'm gonna fuck yer shit up so bad dental records won't identify yer body, ya read me? _No more_, 'cuz so help me Precursors, the next person who tries to hurt him is gonna end up Metal meat. Got it?" Torn couldn't really say anything with Daxter's weight on his throat, but he made an affirmative-sounding gasp. The foot removed itself and the knife was thrown away. "We're takin' the next few days off. So do whatever ya gotta do, an' stay the hell outta our way." There was a hard step into Torn's abdomen and his face was slapped with a thickly muscled tail before Daxter jumped off completely.

He stalked to the end of the alley, stopping just past the last building to turn around. The sun had finally broken through the clouds, the sudden light highlighting fur still standing on end, the orange and yellow now streaked with red. The effect was startling and savage, stripping away the last of the illusion, that he was some docile pet. Daxter bared his teeth in what was nothing less than a malicious grin, animal and yet so very _human_.

"An' if ya breath word one of this to Jak, I'll go straight for yer throat." Then he disappeared around the corner.


	9. Connection

This was written quite early in the process, before I really decided to take on the challenge of a theme list, so it sounds a bit dated to me compared to what I'm working on now. I don't know; it's all probably just in my head. What I do know is that Neofox's art (out on Deviantart) had a huge influence on how this piece come together in my mind. Very sweet and very much worth the time and energy to find if you care to look.

~Tawnya

* * *

_**Connection – Jak 2**_

Like all visionaries and geniuses across time, Daxter's greatest gift was also his worst asset – his inability to curb his mouth was almost the stuff of legends.

Sometimes, this was a good thing. As children, the constant running commentary was always a source of amusement in a world that never seemed to change. There was _always_ something Daxter could talk about, something quirky insight to be had about the landscape, or maybe a giggle-inducing comparison between the villagers and the beasts they were attached to (his favorite target was the Bird Lady). It got him into a fair amount of trouble, too, especially from Samos, who took less kindly to the comments than many of the others, often smacking the other boy upside the head with his staff. The rough treatment did nothing to dissuade the redhead, who would usually redouble his efforts to annoy the old sage. Everyone else had seemed to take it in stride and as a result, Daxter remained loudly opinionated. The extraneous annotations were especially nice now, in this strange world that was still somehow theirs, because it meant that not _everything_ had changed, both inside and out.

Sometimes, it was annoying, especially when the quiet was needed because Jak was tired and (for once) not looking for another fight. Or when they were trying to hide from Krimzon Guards. Or when the task in front of them demanded a fine amount of concentration. There was more whining now, more cursing, more Daxter being generally disagreeable and obstinate, challenging and taunting every person they met and talked to for more than a few minutes if it didn't happen to be female. And if it was a woman they had to talk to…well, that was teeth-gratingly aggravating. To his alarm, Jak found the constant flirting with Tess or Ashelin to be the most grating of all, taking up a considerable amount of his effort and willpower to not snarl whenever Daxter was going out of his way to be chatty. He wasn't sure why and that disturbed him to no end.

And then sometimes, on the rare occasion that was easy to miss if you didn't know what you were listening for, Daxter said something that truly mattered, that easily changed the outcome of whatever they were doing. Something that was so profound that many thought it accidental, or beyond his ability because he was so naturally sarcastic and unconcerned with popular sentiment. Something that reminded Jak that more than just a steady stream of words was being said.

They were sitting in the back of an alley, curled up in a ratted blanket Daxter had somehow smuggled out of the Underground. They were camped in their latest (stolen) vehicle, one of the old clunkers with faded purple paint that went five miles an hour with the pedal to the floor and had to be stopped in order to make a turn. It was stupid, but Jak didn't trust rooms that weren't open, still afraid to wake up and find himself once more locked in. He couldn't stand the simple thought of having his freedom stripped away again. So when he could, he chose to sleep outside, despite the cold and the smell and the increased risk of some Guard who actually had a clue happening upon them in such a vulnerable state. Torn had offered to find them shelter, something that would keep them off the streets while also preserving that sense of personal space that had become very important to Jak recently, but that had been even more unsettling. It was asking for a trust Jak was honestly beginning to think didn't exist in him anymore.

Jak had slouched down in his seat, one foot propped on the dashboard in a half-hearted attempt to get comfortable and had his morph gun in the seat next to him, lying so that it was aimed at the only way in or out. Daxter was grumbling about needing a real shelter because it looked like it was going to rain, and how the nights seemed to be getting colder, and that there was like a million better places to be spend a night than in an cramped car with springs poking into places better left unmentioned.

"Hey, Jak," Daxter began, shifting from his curled up position on Jak's stomach to look up. Jak cracked an eye to see his friend looking uncharacteristically anxious.

"Yeah?"

Daxter hesitated for a moment, then uncurled completely to sit up, bringing them face to face. They stared at each other for a few seconds, then Daxter leaned forward, touching their foreheads together. "Ya know ya mean the world to me, right?" he said softly. "That all ya have to do is say the word, and I'd…I mean, y'know…I'd really…" He sighed, losing the words. "Never mind, big guy. Get some beauty sleep. Ya need it."

Before he could move away, Jak raised a hand, gently stroking the back of his friend's neck, but more importantly keeping their heads touching. Daxter stiffened slightly at the touch, but relaxed quickly enough, even leaning in a little more. Slowly, the words came back, filling the silence between them better than any voice could ever hope. For the first time since they'd been reunited, they _talked _and_ listened_ to each other, finally saying all the things that had been needed to be said for a while now. But like everything else, it had been pushed aside for more pressing issues and problems. Now, in the dim light provided by Haven's night life and the dubious shelter of crumbling buildings, it all came out between them, leaving nothing unsaid.

Finally, it was all out in the open and true silence came back. After a minute, Jak smiled, small but honest and true. "Yeah, I know." Daxter snorted, but smiled back as he curled back into a small orange ball, falling asleep more easily than he had in recent memory. Jak watched him sleep for a long time, listening to the soft, purring like noise the ottsel made, realizing his home was wherever his friend was and that trust wasn't that hard to give.


	10. Lull and Storm

I don't claim to know anything about racing - the total of my experience is playing a few video games (namely _Need for Speed_ and _Jak X_) and watching the _Lupin the Third_. I'll watch a Formula One race if I get the opportunity, but that's about it. So I'm calling in artistic license as my excuse for not getting anything right.

~Tawnya

* * *

_**Lull and Storm –Jak X**_

Perhaps the most grueling thing about combat racing was the inconsistency of it all. One would think that it would all be very structured. Teams would be supplied with a steady stream of information about upcoming heats, how many would be allowed to enter, terrain and weather updates, and maybe even a vague idea of what the track itself looked like. At the very least, that the races would be planned out in such a way that all teams would have a chance to repair and upgrade both machines and drivers, offer a short period of rest, and then let them blow the hell out of each other again. If nothing else, it seemed that would be the best way to win rating and keep a stable viewership of this bloody "sport."

Not true on any level.

According to the Racing Commission, there was no planned schedule to the races in order to prevent sabotage and unfair familiarity with the tracks. Each team was simply called with the location of the next race. You had six hours from then to show up with your stuff together, make any last minute adjustments deemed necessary, and get out on the track. No other information was given; you dealt with it on the fly, hoping that your preventive measures and reflexes were enough to get you to the end in (more than less) one piece. That call could come at any time of the day, any day of the week, sometimes with no time in-between and sometimes with weeks going by without a word. And while everyone on the team quietly hung on to the belief that this was all a carefully manipulated ploy to ramp up tension and fervor, it really did seem like the one calling the shots was asking a magic eight ball for advice.

It made the downtime in-between almost more stressful than the flurry of activity seen right before a race. At least having a concrete deadline (no pun intended) meant that anticipation could be worked through, the gnawing uncertainty and doubt pushed aside, forgotten in the heat of the moment. They would become so focused on what laid directly ahead that time itself became irrelevant. Each heartbeat became it's own eternity while riding through the thick of it, stretching perception past physics and reality. For a few breathless minutes, completely immersed in the moment, but somehow also unattached, there was freedom. Unlimited promise and power available to trembling fingertips, if only you had the guts to stand up to the squall.

Then, as quickly as a summer storm, it was over. Those still standing at the end were like most survivors—shell-shocked and shaking as adrenaline started to wear off shot nerves, leaving a vague note of disappointment mixed in with relief and the sweet taste of victory.

The feeling of accomplishment would carry over for an hour or two, depending on how many were put into recovery and how long they had to stay there. A meticulously thorough check of the cars could eat up a few days of attention after that. Then it was back to waiting, wondering if this ache had been there the night before, or if that pain was because you slept wrong a bruise. That was by far the hardest thing to fight, the creeping paranoia hidden behind fatigue and other concerns. It kept everyone keyed up, hyper-vigilant and excessively short tempered. The sun rarely set without seeing at least one argument about something that under different circumstances never would have escalated so far.

As if they weren't stressed enough, trying to maintain some sense of balance in the midst of such controlled chaos, the poison was starting to make itself known. The good days still outnumbered the bad, but when those bad days hit…the group could be short a person for quite a while. The symptoms ranged from nausea to simple light-headedness, numbness and tingling to debilitating cramps. Then there was the low-level fevers and chills to consider. All combined, it was a miserable game of hurry up, just to wait some more.

The constantly dark horizon only seemed to grow blacker s time went on, a constant looming threat that should have sent any sane person running for cover. But no one had ever claimed Jak had a strong self-preservation instinct. While everyone else only felt dread, it was obvious that Jak felt something else. It could be seen in his eyes right before the start of the next death-defying stunt, a fluttering kind of excitement that brought a spark to an otherwise dark gaze. It was like he was watching a particularly violent storm gather over the ocean, as beautiful as it was terrifying to behold. They all knew this fiasco wasn't going to end well one way or another, but one only had to look to see that he was really starting to enjoy the thrill of the track.

So Daxter didn't say anything when the numbness set in permanently, or when the nausea became a constant nightly issue, or even when he became so dizzy it felt like he was going to pass out. He just hung on as tightly as he could until the feelings passed, then bluffed his way through whatever he'd missed. It was really only a matter of time Jak noticed anyway. Someday soon, sooner than any of the others, Daxter would make the leap he'd made thousands of times to a spot he'd claimed since day one of fur-dom…and miss. And yeah, Jak would be pretty pissed about being left in the dark, but the big dummy was focused on the pulse-pounding times that he was failing to notice the calmer portions of life were spent snuggling up to a certain mechanic girl he'd been flirting with since childhood.

It would be a lie to say he wasn't sad at the loss of attention the (finally) budding relationship was causing, but Daxter was willing to put up with it because it meant Jak was moving on with his life. It wasn't always going to be adventures and saving the day, and if anyone deserved the chance at a normal life when everything finally calmed down, it was Jak…even if he'd rather spend all his time watching for the next storm.


	11. Animal

My better half is an ecologist with a thing for the weasel family, and has been known to throw herself across a van full of people in order to see one bounding up a hill. I am constantly regaled with videos of weasels taking down prey three times bigger than they are-which I find absolutely fascinating. Some people find it disturbing, but look it up on YouTube if you're interested. As a result of all this, I see the -_sel_ in ottsel, rather than the _ott-_.

~Tawnya

* * *

_**Animal – Daxter**_

That very first night proved beyond a doubt that Daxter was no longer human. Yes, he could talk (and took full advantage of the of by startling people with the incongruity of fur and wit), he could reason and problem solve, and he could create, so he was no mere beast. But he had clung hard to the idea that it was all temporary, clothing he could take off once he found the zipper. It was supposed to be a change that only applied to the way he looked, not the way he acted.

But that night, he was terrified, disoriented, lost and alone. In the midst of his panicked flight, something else had taken over, driving him harder and faster than he'd ever gone before, completely blind to the world around him. He didn't notice how many times he turned right or dashed to the left, what sign had passed by above or if he'd run over a grate of some kind. He'd simply run (for the first time on all fours, but he didn't notice that until later) as fast as he could for as far as he could, and then for a little bit longer. Only once his heart left like it was going to explode in his chest did he manage to collapse into a dark corner, gasping and trembling from the strain. It seemed like forever before his thoughts came back, something other than the command to flee. It was only then that Daxter realized he had no clue where he was, or how to get back to Jak.

Just the thought of trying to go back brought on a panic attack and he had to fight hard against the urge to blindly run away again. By the time he could manage such thinking, the sun had gone down and it was starting to get cold. He had to psych himself up into stepping out of his niche for nearly an hour before he could actually do it. It was unsteady progress from there, out into the metal monstrosity he could come to know as Haven City.

He crept from shadow to shadow, still down on all fours and slinking along to the ground, eyes open and ears twitching toward every unknown sound…and was amazed at how much he could actually hear from a distance. Footsteps, voices, the clink of armour, and the rustle of clothes, all distinctive from the background buzz the buildings themselves produced, or the howl of the wind as it pushed through such unnatural structures. The knowledge helped ease still quivering nerves the longer he watched and correctly matched sound to source. He also noticed how much sharper smells were too. The whole area stank, inciting a gag reflex every time he breathed through his nose, but there was more than rot to the odor. Food, people, other animals…he could even smell warmth. There was more in the air than just those things, something vaguely metallic that made his fur stand on end whenever it was more than a whiff on the breeze.

It took a bit to coordinate the two senses with each other, but when they started working together, it was like a while new world had been opened up to him. A touch of his old confidence came back, fighting with the instinctual fear that had so blinded him earlier. He was less than successful trying to get those feelings to play nicely together. Panicking, however, had been what got him into this situation in the first place, so he firmly refused to acknowledge the emotion. He had to focus. It was late and it was dark. He needed food and shelter if he was going to survive the night… Okay, that was as much the truth as it was a stall, but he was barely functioning as it was. It was taking a considerable amount of willpower to simply stand upright instead of crouched down.

A fact that probably saved his life, allowing him to duck under the snap of teeth that would have otherwise snapped his neck. Instead, the Lurker rat sailed right over him, landing and turning with a disgruntled hiss. Daxter opened his mouth to scream for Jak, but the name died in his throat. The wave of guilt and sadness was staggering in its intensity, distracting him enough that he couldn't dodge the rat's next lunge. They hit the ground hard, his arm the only thing keeping sharp teeth from his throat. He screamed when he was bitten, sure that this was the end of everything, even as a different feeling surged through his system.

He _could not_ die here. He _would not_. The world narrowed down to just him and the Lurker rat, every trace of fear or trepidation replaced by one command seemingly hardwired into his brain. Daxter didn't think about it, only responded. He kicked out with his legs at the same time his free hand clawed out an eye. His arm was released with a squeal of pain and the body was shoved away. He rolled to his feet in a flash, leaping for the other creature and landing on its back. Claws dug into flesh as jaws closed with as much force as possible on the back of the rat's neck. It tasted worse than it smelled, blood mixing with the greasy, dirty fur, but he hung on as it thrashed around. Finally, they twisted around in just the right way, the distinctive crunch of bone accenting a sudden screech before the body went limp.

Panting, Daxter backed away, jaw and hands aching. He spat and scrubbed at his face, trying to get rid of the awful taste in his mouth. He was unsure if he should feel proud for killing the thing himself, of sick because the same instinct said to eat it. In the end, he left the body untouched, wandering back the way he'd come until he found where it had come from. It was a loose grate in the side of a nearby building, filled with half-rotten food and scraps of paper. He poked around carefully, in case there were more rats in the nest. Determining he was alone, he choked down a few mouthfuls of less rotten food even though he wasn't hungry anymore, and curled into the crumpled paper, hoping he didn't dream about eating a corpse or his teeth sinking into someone else's neck.

_I was just scared… I didn't mean it. I didn't want to… I'm not some mindless beast…right?_


	12. Children

Someday soon, I will convince my lovely artist friends to actually draw out this little dream-image of them on the beach with kids. I would do it myself, but I have no talent in art. There's a reason I write. This is also an expanded and time warped version of a scene I wrote for another piece that may or may not be posted later. Also, before I hear any complaints, I admit that I don't like Keira, but that isn't the point of this. The point is that I honestly think that neither Jak nor Daxter could survive in a "normal"relationship with other people because of their dependence on each other. You have been warned.

~Tawnya

* * *

_**Children – Jak X**_

For a long time, Jak watched Keira move around the garage. She was covered in machine oil and grease up to her elbows, had it smudged across her nose. Humming happily as she worked, picking up her tools by touch alone as she fused over the engine block, it was like nothing had changed. Strip away the background of metal and dirty concrete, add a gentle breeze and the rush of ocean water on sand…all of the sudden, they were fifteen again. He'd watched her like this a lot as a child, interested in what her brilliant mind had come up with, but too shy to actually step forward and ask the questions bubbling away in his mind.

Contrary to popular belief, he didn't spend every waking hour with Daxter glued to his side, and that was especially true for times like this. His best friend had at first complained about wasting the evening watching instead of doing, but that had quickly given way to covert winks covered by useless chatter about finding something to wile away the time. Then Jak was left alone to his quiet interest. He spent a lot of evenings watching, sometimes getting brave enough to step close and catch her attention, sometimes being caught outright, but always watching and admiring the intelligence and creativity of her work.

Obviously, nothing had turned out the way they thought it would. He wasn't that shy, quiet kid anymore, but a jaded, scarred man who was becoming far too comfortable with having blood on his hands. Jak didn't feel particularly attractive despite the number of eyes that followed him with something other than malice. Keira, on the other hand…all the things he'd found attractive then were still there now. Ingenuity, resourcefulness, aptitude. She was pretty and smart, willing to get dirty and try new things, upbeat and caring, with a good dose of sass to keep things interesting.

Jak closed his eyes. In the darkness, he saw the childhood dream Daxter had managed to hang onto all these years. The dream of two friends, still side-by-side but with lives of their own, watching their children play in the sand of a well-protected beach. No guns, no explosions, nothing more threatening than some cool water and a few crabs. The sun was almost set, washing everything in soft light. He and Dax were still shoulder to shoulder. Keira was on his other, and Tess was a little further over, on the other side of his friend. Further down near the waterline, two kids were building a sand castle—well, the little redheaded girl was telling the blond boy where to push the sand. It looked more like a mound than a castle, but that didn't stop them in the least. It made Jak's heart hitch a little, the thought of being a father, of having something that normal. Something he'd never had or really experienced. It was a feeling he rather liked the more he dwelled upon it.

Then Daxter nudged him and made some smart comment, something so off handed and absurd that it sent them both crashing to the ground in a fit of laughter. The hilarity was cut short by a loud cry of pain, drawing their attention back down the beach. Daxter was on his feet, already yelling and running to the source of the problem. The sun had disappeared behind the horizon, casting the world into twilight shadow and creating a sharp contrast to what had been moments before. But that wasn't the only thing that had changed. Neither Tess nor Keira were there anymore…yet nothing relevant had seemed to change in the scene. He still felt the same flutter, something warm and soothing that slid through his chest at the thought of having, of _being_ _a part_ of, an actual family, despite the fact that the girl he was supposed to love wasn't there anymore.

When his eyes opened again, Keira was cleaning up, wiping down her tools for the night. He still saw all the things he'd seen before. She was still attractive, and clever, and everything he'd been interested in for literally years. She was also somehow different now. It took a while before Jak realized that it wasn't Keira who had changed, but how he was viewing her. Even now, cynical and abused as his nature was, he cared. He would always care about her, always be there when she needed him…it just wasn't the kind of caring she was looking for.

It made sense, now that he thought about it. Keira was the only girl for miles around that had been close to his age. They had grown up together, played in the mud together, laughed and cried together. She was really all he'd known about the fairer sex for most of his life. Where else was that kind of attention supposed to go? It made sense that when he finally hit the age that boys started to notice girls, his only interest was in Keira.

The opposite was also true. Since she was all that he had known, he'd never looked anywhere else. He hadn't even considered the possibility of a long-term relationship until Daxter started making serious noises about staying with Tess and admitted he wasn't entirely sure he had it in him to even try. He was simply so used to Keira being there, to the casual flirting that they each made with the subject of a being more than friends that he never pushed. It was stable. It was safe. More than anything else, though, it was familiar in a world where everything else could be taken away or changed at a moment's notice.

And that was all that really existed between them. Familiarity and memories of a better time and place. A supportive shoulder and the mechanical knowledge to keep him up and running. Nothing romantic, involved, or dramatic. Nothing beyond the care of life-long friends, one of which who happened to be a boy while the other was a girl.

For a brief second, he mourned the loss of the children that never would be because of what he was about to say. The loss was unexpectedly sharp until the last image his imagination had produced came back—Daxter standing on the edge of evening with the little girl in his arms, trying to sooth whatever the hurt may have been, a look of exasperation as he turned back to see what was keeping Jak from helping. Jak smiled a little at that image, wondering if maybe it wasn't as lost as he thought. Then he took a deep breath and stepped into the garage.

"Keira, we need to talk…"


	13. We All Float On

There isn't much to comment on, other than the tag says Precursor Legacy, but it really takes place several years before that. I had a request for fluff, so fluff I give.

~Tawnya

* * *

_**We All Float On – Precursor Legacy**_

"Oh, _come_ _on_!" Daxter whined. "It's not gonna bite ya! Ya a man or a mouse-fly?"

Jak's ears listed back, as put out by his friend's insult as he was with same friend's insistence he had to go into the water in order to enjoy the beach. He didn't want to go into the water. He was perfectly happy right where he was—playing with shells in the sand well away from the break line.

Daxter huffed and pulled himself from the surf, stomping as only a petulant nine year old could up the beach. Jak ignored him. The other boy scowled, but instead of another verbal barrage, he flopped unceremoniously to the ground beside him. Daxter wiggled and squirmed, shifting one way while scooting over in the other. His legs sprawled out, then drew up up tight, only to kick out again a few moments later. Hands would lay serenely for all of two seconds before shooting out over his head, and then falling to his sides without concern for what might be in the way. There was a moment of still, then the pattern repeated.

After the third time Jak was smacked upside the head (accidentally, of course), he finally turned to take in Daxter's spastic pantomime of swimming. The instant the attention was noticed, Daxter bolted up-right, a very serious look on his face. "I knew it," he said, making Jak blink. "It ain't the same without water. Can we go swimmin' _now_?"

Jak was not amused. He rolled his eyes and tried to turn back to his game, but Daxter wouldn't let him. Blindsided by an awkward tackle, Jak went down with a yelp. They tussled in the sand, the bizarre wrestling match rolling them this way and that across the ground. Daxter was being exceptionally infuriating, switching almost randomly between a very aggressive offense and the bare minimum defense needed to keep him from the butt kicking he so totally deserved at this point. The constant switching left Jak at a loss; he was either being too soft or too rough. He had just gotten to the point where he didn't _care_ if he hurt the other when Daxter managed one more dirty trick and Jak ended up on his back. He froze as ocean water lapped up gently against their bodies, soaking his clothes and leaving foam in his ears and hair.

The superior look on Daxter's face washed away with the tide. "Oh, holy… Why are you so terrified?" He immediately scrambled off, pulling Jak to his feet. Jak didn't respond, letting the other brush wet sand from his clothes. He didn't want to admit that a couple weeks ago, while Daxter had been laid up with a rather nasty summer cold, he'd come to the beach alone and gone swimming. They weren't supposed to go out alone, but it was an exceptionally warm day and the beckoning of the waves was something he couldn't resist. He was a strong swimmer and always the more alert of the two of them, therefore he was confident that he could handle anything that might happen. However, without a second body there to help judge the distance, he'd gone out too far…and nearly hadn't made it back. Between the backtide and a rather close encounter with a Lurker shark, Jak wanted nothing to do with the water for quite a while.

"Hey…" Jak looked up to see a contrite and concerned Daxter still watching him. "We don't hafta go swimmin'…but it's too hot to just sit on the sand like that. Yer gonna roast if ya try. Why don't we hit the cove an' just float for a while. Ya up for that…or do ya wanna go home an' find somethin' else to do?"

It wasn't often Daxter gave out a choice, and Jak knew what it was costing the redhead to give it in the first place. This was the first day he'd been let out without restriction, finally deemed well enough to be allowed to run free. After two weeks of being stuck inside, there as no way Daxter would have been happy going back. But he was still offering…

…and a float didn't sound all that bad…

He nodded and Daxter immediately perked back up, understanding what was being agreed to in that weird way he understood every word Jak never said. Without further discussion, they gathered up their things and moved further down the beach, until they reached the calmer area around the waterfall basin. This time, Jak didn't hesitate to strip out of his clothes and step up to the waterline. It was a little cooler here because of the cascade nearby, but it felt good after the baking heat of the beach. Daxter had already jumped in, twisting through the water like he'd been born in it. Impromptu dive finished, he surfaced and wiped the water from his eyes, frowning when he saw Jak still wasn't with him.

"Ya didn't change yer mind, did ya?"

Jak shook his head before wading in, just deep enough to be bouyant, but still shallow enough to get out quickly should the need arise. He tipped back and let the water take his weight, settling into it with relative ease. The constant muted thrum of the waterfall a pleasant static in his ears, helping ease tense muscles and relax him enough that he actually started to enjoy floating. He started once, when something brushed his hand, only to see that Daxter had drifted close. Though his eyes remained closed, there was a deliberate reach for Jak's hand. It was the barest of brushes, a simple reminder that he wasn't alone. It did more to settle his nerves than anything so far.

They stayed there the entire afternoon, just floating serenely in the calm surf of the cove. Well, Jak floated. Daxter had never been one to stay in one spot quietly for long, so periodically, he would duck under the surface or raise a few waves of his own. Sometimes teasingly splashing, sometimes contently quiet, but always there and never far from hand. By the time the sun started to set into the ocean, all seemed right with the world once more. Then again, with Daxter beside him, nothing ever seemed wrong.


	14. Chess

Yay for more fluff! I think this is one of my favorites so far; it turned out exactly the way I wanted it to, which is rare. That, and I am a chess geek, though I don't get to play very often anymore. Time line wise, this is supposed to be somewhere in the middle of the game after the second Arena event, but before you earn the last amulet.

~Tawnya

* * *

_**Chess – Jak 3**_

For the life of him, Jak could not figure out what he was looking at. Like everything in Spargus, it was carved from stone. The base was square, sectioned off into smaller square tiles by etched lines. Off to one side stood a series of pieces, each handsomely carved out of yet more stone in opposing colours. The whole thing was set up on a table furnished with two chairs in a small alcove just off to the side of the impressive throne room. He'd never noticed it before.

Granted, that was because he'd never just wandered around the massive structure before either. He came when Damas called, carried out whatever orders he was given, and went home. He had no desire to do more than what was necessary to continue living in the city. After that, he just wanted to be left alone…something that was becoming increasingly impossible.

But today, when he'd shown up to answer a summons, he found that the Wasteland Leader had been abruptly called away on other business and would return shortly. Thinking "shortly" meant at max fifteen minutes or so, Jak had opted to simply wait in the throne room until Damas returned, rather than going all the way back to his home just in time to turn around and come back. By the time he hit the thirty minute mark, however, he realized his mistake. Sure, he could still leave, but Jak knew his luck—he'd just get out the door when Damas would walk in. So he continued to wait and kill time by examining a room he'd been in dozens of times now, but had never really seen.

"Ah, I see you found my guilty pleasure." The rough voice was warmed with amusement, but still boomed through the room behind Jak. He quickly withdrew the hand that had been reaching for one of the figurines before turning to face Damas with a guilty flush. The King of Spargus didn't look mad. In fact, a wry smile was pulling at the corners of his mouth. But as always, his dark eyes were calculating. Leaning almost casually against a nearby pillar, he was watching Jak very carefully, taking everything in without revealing anything. "Do you play?"

"I—" For the briefest of moments, Jak considered lying, if only to save face in front of the man he owed his life to. It was immediately dismissed. Something deep inside him wouldn't allow it. Instead, he took a deep breath to smother his embarrassment and admitted, "I don't even know what it is."

A flash of something—surprise, maybe admiration—crossed Damas's face, almost too quick to be noticed. He straightened up and gestured to the table. "The game is called chess. It requires patience and strategy to play, with the purpose depending upon which rules you're using. It used to be used as a war simulator, to teach young warriors about field movements and how to adapt to a constantly changing situation. Now, it's something us old war dogs use to pass the time. Most aren't interested in learning such things these days, or at least investing the time it takes to become adept at it." He glanced over curiously. "Would you like to learn?"

"I would be a terrible opponent," Jak responded automatically.

Damas chuckled. "You sell yourself short. You have the makings of a very cunning mind, if only you'd allow yourself the time to think properly. This is a harmless way to gain that experience. The hardest part is remembering how each individual piece is supposed to move. You might even learn something about yourself in the process."

The note of sorrow in the last statement caught Jak's attention. "And what did you learn?" he asked quietly.

"That the reason my mother could end any game between myself and my father in three moves or less was because she understood what those pieces represented better than either of us. I learned that there are no pawns and that victory depends on more than superior strength and strategy alone." There was a beat of silence before Damas turned fully to face him, the somber tone gone from his voice. "The offer stands if you're ever interested. To be truthful, it's been years since I played last, so we'd be on a more even starting ground than you'd think."

"Thank you…"

"If you accept, it is I who will be thanking you. I could call it new recruit training, and maybe gain an hour or two without some adviser complaining in my ear. His mother wasn't vindictive, she was psychic," Damas added under his breath, making Jak chuckle. The wry smile made a reappearance as they walked back into the main area.

Rather than climbing up to the throne proper, Damas took a seat on the dais steps, bringing him just about level with Jak, who remained standing at the bottom. "The reason I've called you here is to inform you that your third Arena match has been postponed. There are other matters of more importance at hand and the city's focus must remain on those things if we are to survive. To that point, I've heard you've been spending a lot of time in Haven City." He held up a hand for silence when Jak started to protest. "When you won your first battle amulet, I told you you were free to go where you wished. This place is a refuge, not a prison. How you choose to spend your free time is _your _business. But I must know who you'll stand with when the time comes. If I call—if Spargus calls...will you answer?"

That sounded an awful lot like a loophole to Jak. The real question was whether it would save him from a tricky situation, or leave him dangling in the wind. Free to go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted was an offer that sounded too good no matter how he looked at it. If it was one lesson he'd learned, it was that everything came with a price, and this was a privilege paid for by dodging bullets and jumping sand dunes for Precursor tech after the storms came. High risk for high profit...that was the rule that kept the Wasteland city standing. Maybe it wasn't equal, but it _was_ a fair trade. Unlike Haven, where you could work your ass off with no thanks, and then they could take it all from you without cause or reason. Faced with that knowledge, there really wasn't any other answer. He met Damas's eye, then bowed in what he hoped was a respectable manner. "I serve Spargus, even when I'm not within her walls. I will stand with you. I will answer your call."

Jak started when a heavy hand clapped to his shoulder, looking up to see Damas standing in front of him. He hadn't even heard the other man move, let alone noticed his approach. The renegade king was smiling at him with true affection, so any feelings of embarrassment or self-consciousness were suffused with the warm tingle of pride. Like he was a child who had earned the admiration of a parent or respected elder—which in most ways really was the case.

"That's…good to hear," Damas said, patting his shoulder again. "You would be a better player than you think."

"I think I'd like to find out, actually."

The smile on Damas's face, and his hand on Jak's shoulder, stayed for the rest of the evening.


	15. Duty

There was something else I was going to do for this prompt, but after getting everything typed up in the master document, I realized I've been playing the third game waaaaay too much and wanted to break up the time line a bit. As a result, Katamariape, I grant your wish, even if it's kinda cliche and cannon. Watch for swearing; Daxter's drunk again, and pissed to boot.

~Tawnya

* * *

_**Duty – Jak 2/Jak 3**_

"Are you okay?"

In the empty bar, her soft voice was inordinately loud, a harsh reminder that nothing was as it was supposed to be. Daxter looked up from his seat on the bar, eyes bloodshot and angry. His face was still wet with tears that had already run their course. It was obvious he wanted to scream, to throw the glass in his hand and let the rage pour out. Considering everything that had just happened, Tess didn't blame him. But rather than taking his anger out on her as she had expected, he managed a poor imitation of a smile and forced himself to relax his grip on his drink.

"No," he admitted shortly. His voice was raw. He took another shot to clear it, coughed, turned it into a hysterical laugh. "It's been a helluva day, babe. One fuckin' helluva day…" Looking ready to say more, Daxter bit his lip instead and dropped his eyes. Tess slid into the seat next to him, letting her hand stroke across his shoulders, down his back. She hoped it would relax him. All he did was stiffen up. They sat in an uncomfortable silence until Daxter reached for a refill.

"You can't drink this away," Tess said.

"What else am I supposed to do?" he snapped, slamming the glass down. "What _can_ I do? Those idiots don't listen to a fuckin' word I say! An' all the ones that _coulda_ done somethin' decided it wasn't worth the breath! After everythin' we've done, they didn't even care enough to say word one in his defense. Just let that damn council walk all over him like he's yesterday's garbage."

This time, Daxter skipped the glass and took a pull straight from the bottle. "I mean, he only single-handedly saved this damn city from itself. He's been blown up, experimented on, shot all ta hell…his entire damn life's been torn apart, an' for what? To save people more interested in forgettin' anythin' ever happened. People who don't even know his name, who don't give a damn about what he's given up so that they can carry on this charade that nothin's ever wrong. Ignore it, hide it away, look the other damn direction. Pretend it never happened an' maybe it'll go away.

"So why shouldn't I drink myself under the table? I'm only followin' status quo."

"Because you're better than the status quo." Tess touched his arm, making him lower the bottle. "You're the Demolition Duo, Jak _and_ Daxter. The team who freed an entire city! And you're going to do nothing?"

"If I could trade places with him, I would! I woulda done it two years ago, too! But then he'd do somethin' stupid like tryin' to rescue me an' get all caught up in a mess there's no way outta, but he could make it through 'cuz that's just how awesome Jak is. I'm not that kinda awesome. I do that an' then both of us would be chucked in a lil' box an' forgotten 'bout.

"An' even if I could get him out a second time, where would we go? Torn knows every hide-away we ever took to in the city an' the Guard actually pays attention now. This'd be the first place they came stormin' through. Probably arrest us for suspicion of aidin' an' abettin'. 'Sides, Jak wouldn't be happy livin' in a hole for the rest of his life. It'd kill him as surely as a bullet between the eyes. So what am I supposed to do?" he asked again quietly, sounding young and truly lost.

"Something." Daxter snorted, but Tess grabbed a hold of his face, turning him to fully face her. "Daxter, this is the time when true friends really need to stick together. You're the only one he's got right now, the only one whose voice still means something to him. I know it seems like you can't do a lot, but anything you do, or don't do, right now is going to change what's between you two forever. Are you seriously going to sit there and tell me that after everything you two have been though together, you're just going to let it all go?"

He stared at her hopelessly, opening and closing his mouth without making a sound. After trying a few times, he managed a very small, "But what 'bout you?"

For an instant, Tess was shocked. That what was keeping him here? A worry for her? Sure, they'd been flirting shamelessly back and forth for a while now, but there had never seemed to be anything more to it than friendly banter. Daxter was sweet and funny, and his skewed view of the world had kept some really dangerous situations becoming too serious, as well as helped keep everything else in perspective. And though she had been informed that the orange fur hadn't always been the natural state of things, it was hard to take the romantic advances of an animal seriously. Yet in this unexpected moment, she saw what Jak saw—an intelligent young man who was loyal and serious in his devotion to those close to him. Someone who did his level best to make sure no one was left behind.

Daxter knew what was going to happen next. He knew what the whole ordeal was going to do to Jak, just like he knew that doing the right thing would take him far away for who knew how long. And yet he still felt enough of a connection to her that he was second-guessing, trying to make everything work out so that both she and Jak got the time and attention they deserved. Despite the fact that a square peg couldn't go through a round hole no matter how it was shoved, Daxter was still trying to make an impossible situation conform.

Tess had never loved someone more.

She leaned down, pressing a firm kiss between his ears. "Don't worry about me, sweetie. I'll be fine. I promise." She kissed him again for emphasis. "You go do what you need to do, and I'll wait right here for you, for as long as it takes the both of you to come back. Besides, a brave hero has a duty to his sidekick, to never leave them alone in the face of danger."

He touched her hands, like he was trying to make sure it she was really there. He still looked uncertain, but the determined spark was coming back to his eyes. "Ya sure?"

She nodded, scooping him up off the bar top. "What you and Jak share is something special, something I've never seen before. I don't want to be the reason that breaks apart. So even if it means telling this city and everyone in it to flock off, don't let go of it."

Finally, an honest smile and a look of hope crossed his face. "Yer the best, Tess-a-kins."

"Don't you know it." Another kiss, then she let him jump to the floor. "Give 'em hell for us both!"

As soon as he was out the door and complete silence enveloped the Naughty Ottsel again, Tess settled down to finish the open bottle. She had a duty to perform now, too, and a little liquid courage went a long way to comforting a heart soon to be lost.


	16. Rip

Chapter 16 is the quarter mark, and it seems like I've been at this much longer than I've truly been. Not that the ideas are slowing down much, but I am starting to feel like I'm going in circles sometimes.

Anyway, this takes place right at the end of Jak 3. I'm usually not one to get overly ticked off at a game, though I do admit to some creative swearing when frustrated by a mission. The end of the third game, however, annoyed me to no end. I'm still kinda pissed off about it, which is sad because it is my favorite of the series. Freaking pants as a reward...I accept, even if I don't like it. I do not accept Veger's "punishment," however, so here's my poor attempt to right that little wrong.

~Tawnya

* * *

**_Rip – Jak 3_**

"So, you were just going to sneak off in the middle of the night? Without a word?"

Daxter flinched, cursing silently as he turned around. Highlighted from behind by the many bonfires that had sprung up as evening set in, Jak looked just that much more angry, and that much more alone. His face was stamped with hurt and betrayal. Daxter wanted to sigh, roll his eyes in exasperation, and smack his friend upside the head. Instead, he squared up, glaring back in a challenge.

"Actually, I was thinkin' 'bout strollin', but if sneakin' will get the job done, then yes." This time, Jak flinched, but he was still all hard lines and deceived overtones. Daxter gritted his teeth against the feelings of guilt. He wasn't doing anything wrong, not technically, at least. Just taking care of a loose end that sorely needed to be tied up, then preferably beaten half to death. "Go back to the party, Jak," he said in a decently calm and nonchalant voice. "This is the third time ya've saved the freakin' world. Rest on yer damn laurels for a while, 'cuz with yer track record, we got two weeks before the next disaster strikes." He made a shooing motion with his hands.

Jak hesitated. "Daxter—"

"Drop it," he growled. "Go back to the others. This is somethin' I gotta do, an' I gotta do it alone."

There was a few minutes of tense silence as the two stared at each other, defiant and unwilling to give, gauging each other's conviction in their words. Most of the time, it was Daxter who lost the battle of wills, bending to whatever Jak wanted. But this time, it was Jak who finally took the step back. "Why?" he asked.

"'Cuz if I told ya, ya'd try to stop me." Now Daxter did sigh, rubbing the back of his head in a stressed manner. "Please, Jak. Just… just trust me on this."

Another consideration, shorter this time. The almost imperceptible nod was all the acknowledgment the ottsel needed. Just like his nickname, Daxter disappeared into darkness like a streak of orange lightning, leaving Jak behind for the second time.

**-X-X-X-**

Daxter didn't come back that night. Spargus's celebration of the victorious dead had lit up the darkness for hours, filling the air with sweet smelling smoke and drunken laughter even as dawn broke over still smoldering coals. But Jak hadn't taken part in any of merry-making despite the many entreaties of his friends. Instead, he'd gone home—gods, that sounded weird to say now—and gone to bed, exhausted in ways that had nothing to do with the amount of sleep he got. He'd watched shadows play across the ceiling as the revelry continued outside his window, listening hard for the tell-tale scratch of claws on stone until sleep finally claimed him.

It was hard to tell what really woke him the next morning, but he bolted back to consciousness with a face full of sunshine to greet him. He groaned and tired to hide under his pillow, half-heartedly feeling around the bed for the warm body that should have been there, and yet wasn't. He stared at the empty nest of blankets created to accommodate someone who lost warmth easily for a while before finally pushing himself out of bed. Moping the day away wasn't an option no matter how much he wished it was… That's when he heard the low hiss and stifled muttering coming from the bathroom. Cautiously, Jak crept up to the slightly ajar door and peered in.

Daxter was sitting in the sink, fussing and scrubbing at the pants the Precursors had given him. Why he was worried about the clothing when he himself looked like he'd been dragged through the desert clinging to the undercarriage of one of the dune buggies was beyond Jak, but that's what he was doing, swearing every so often under his breath. His hands shook as he held the garment up to inspect his work, giving Jak a view of his scratched face, the dried blood in his fur and around his nose, and the swelling that had partially closed one eye. He was covered in dirt, fur matted in some place and missing in others.

"Sonuva_bitch_," he hissed.

"You okay?" Jak asked quietly, finally stepping in to the room.

"No, I'm not okay." Daxter scowled up at him. "I haven't even had the damn things for a full day an' they're ripped. See?" He held the pants out for Jak to inspect, which he did after a moment's hesitation. Indeed, there seemed to be a hole in one of the legs where the stitching had snapped and unraveled. Again, Jak failed to see why that was more important than Daxter's own injuries. He just about asked, but decided he was probably better of not knowing the why of it. Nevertheless, the ottsel seemed put out by the fact his clothing was damaged, so Jak did the only thing he really could—he offered to fix them.

As easily as that, the tension between them dissolved and they were back to where they'd always been. Daxter never did confess to what happened, where he'd gone and what he'd done once there to earn such a scruffy appearance, but Jak got an idea when Kleiver showed up on his doorstep, blowing more smoke than usual. He hadn't paid much attention to what the large man said, more interested in the fact that the ottsel-ized Veger looked six times worse than Daxter did. He even flinched when Daxter, who wasn't even in the room at the time, made an off-handed comment about the protective instincts of some animals and to take better care where he went walking alone.

Daxter was a very spoiled ottsel for a while after that.


End file.
